The Three Terrors and Mark
by Whisperer of the Wind
Summary: Mark was bad. Mark gets sent to Africa during the time of Lion King 1/2. Mark is in for the adventure of a lifetime... whether he wants it or not. With guest appearences from the Three Terrors (guess who) and other random characters, this story is NOT your average crazy fic.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello to everyone! This is my first Lion King fic, first Lion King 1/2 fic, too. Many thanks to ML who requested, basically beta-d, and brought this story to life. So amazing working with you, just putting that out there. And, I know, I know, you told me not to mentio you, but I couldn't resist. You were just that awesome. Seriously. You friggin' ROCK! **

**Hakuna Matata, and happy reading!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of these amazing characters or anything of the sort. If I did, Pumbaa would have gotten a girlfriend. Who would accidently sit on Timone whenever he insulted Pumbaa. Just sayin'.**

**Warning: This is a multi-chapter fic, and will eventually have a bittersweet ending. Not saying who will get the bitter, and who will get the sweet. You have been warned.**

* * *

We start this story, dear readers, in a home like every other home. Quiet, unassuming, modern. It sits on a good-sized patch of green grass, with a white picket fence surrounding the back yard. The street in front of the house is fairly common, also; a few cracks here and there, a small pothole off to the side, the yellow dashes down the middle slightly faded from use. Nothing very noticeable or out of the ordinary.

Maybe this was by accident, maybe it was the hand of Lady Fate. Maybe it was neither. Either way, it just goes to show that it could happen to anyone. It could happen to a school teacher. It could happen to a housewife, or a business man. It could happen to you.

What is this 'it' I speak of? Well, that is the purpose of this very story. That is the purpose for my entire being. To warn people of what could be, what is, and what will be. Will you heed my tome, my warning? Perhaps you need to hear the entire story first…

* * *

Mark sighed and leaned back against the couch. School was out for the summer and, to make it even better, he had no projects or assignments. Not to mention the best part of the day.

He'd finally paid Mrs. Kalfer back for all those hours of late-night studying and cram sessions. Worms in her purse wasn't the most eloquent solution, but it did get the job done, and that was all he needed. He hadn't put the worms in there himself, of course. He'd paid someone to do it, as he couldn't stand to touch such loathsome creatures. The fact that Mrs. Kalfer would probably freak out and kill the worms was icing on the cake.

Mark closed his eyes and savored the taste of success. He had to admit, it was sweet. Almost as sweet as killing a bug himself would taste. Not the killing part, no, that part was despicable and disgusting. It was the knowledge that you'd cleansed the world of another parasite.

The TV blared another commercial about a Disney classic brought back in 3D. It hit theaters that Saturday. Interesting. He might go and see it, though of course it could never be as wonderful as his personal Disney favorite. The Lion King ½. The original was very good, and the sequel was even better! But ½ was the best- after all, it told the past of his favorite characters, Timone and Pumbaa. From the time Timone's past was explained to when the credits rolled, he sat enthralled with the movie, which was more than he could say for any other movie.

Now that he'd started thinking about it, he had to watch it. One would think that after watching the same movie time after time again he would get bored of it, but it was just the opposite. He enjoyed watching the scenes and feeling the anticipation of what would happen next. He smiled with glee as he mouthed the lines along with the characters. He laughed at the funny parts and held his breath at the dramatic ones. It was ridiculous, and totally childish, but it was who he was.

And really, everyone should have something that held joy for them no matter what, whether it was a movie, a book, a hobby, whatever. Take his mother for example- she loved luring various men in, stealing their money, and then dumping them for the next cash-cow that came along. She reminded him of a female praying mantis; they bit the head off of their mates after conceiving. Though he had to admit his mother never had multiple children with each man. So dear old Mum had at least one redeeming quality: She wasn't a whore. He was her only child, though it didn't seem as if she treasured him like the moms of old cherished their first-born. But she did give him everything he wanted, as long as it shut him up for a month or two. Just a year ago she'd bought him the dog he'd wanted, an Alaskan Malamute puppy. Mark had named her Kylie.

Mark got up from the couch and walked over to the DVD stand that sat beside their TV. It was jammed full of every kind of movie out there- adventure, kids, romance (compliments of his mother), mystery, sci-fi, horror, you name it and he had it. He snagged Lion King ½ and turned to the DVD player, gently pushing the disk in until the machine ate it.

As the previews played he walked into the kitchen to make himself a snack. After all, what went better with a movie than popcorn? Especially when it was salted, buttered, and sprinkled with milk duds. Okay, he knew it sounded weird, but it was actually pretty good. The chocolate was all melt-y and you could taste a hint of salt.

He put the bag in the microwave and pressed the buttons for one minute. He turned around towards the sink and opened the cabinet that sat to the left of the faucet. He pulled his Disney mug out and filled it with soda after plunking two cubes of ice in the bottom.

He tipped some back and smacked his lips in satisfaction as the cool liquid slid down his throat. He felt a slight fizzy feeling in his nose and shook his head to disperse it. He hated it when that happened. He was pretty sure it came from not drinking soda for a while, say a few days, and then drinking it suddenly. It just went to show he needed to tell his mother to buy him more Coke. While she was at it, she should buy him more Red Bull, too, since he was almost out. And Monster, preferably the green kind since it tasted better than all the other kinds. Maybe he should just make a list. His Mountain Dew stash was on its last pack.

Hm. Since she was going to be picking up his drinks, he might as well tell her what snacks he wanted. He'd seen a commercial for new sugar-dusted powdered doughnuts with chocolate sprinkles and he wanted to try them. He needed more candy, too. The hard kind that slowly melted in your mouth, not the nasty stuff that stuck to your teeth and made your jaw hurt. More chips. Chocolate-chip cookies with marshmellows. Not to mention they were almost out of his ice cream, Chocolate Fudge Swirl.

Mark groaned and closed his eyes as a thought occurred to him. If he told his mom to buy more ice cream for him, she'd probably get herself one of those stupid, tiny half-pints. Mint Oreo, her favorite. He never understood why she liked that disgusting stuff; it tasted like cardboard to him. He'd told his mother as much, several times, but she never listened to him.

God, she was so selfish. He tried to help her, but she never listened. It wasn't that hard to take advice, but could she manage such a little task? No, she could not. It was pathetic.

He heard scratching at the door and looked over, startled at the interruption. Kylie was looking at him through the glass door. Her head was tilted and one ear was bent down, flopping adorably across her forehead. She lifted a paw and scratched again. He looked behind her and saw a dead bird on the grass. He smirked. At least she was good for one thing- she got rid of those pesky songbirds that always woke him up in the morning. He hated those stupid birds.

Mark walked over to the door and opened it, grateful that Kylie hadn't tracked mud in. She'd done that once, and when his mom came home and found it she'd freaked out and yelled at him for not cleaning it up. Why should he? It was her job to scrub the floors, not his.

He rubbed his foot across the floor. Speaking of cleaning, she needed to sweep the floors, too. That was the third time he'd noticed this month. _Mom's really slacking,_ he thought. It was that new job of hers. She'd applied for some bartending gig and gotten it. Tons of booze and a load of men with loose morals and, more importantly, loose wallets. Perfect for a woman like her.

The microwave dinged and he walked over to it, shaking the bag and frowning when he heard rattling. Mark put the popcorn back in and set the timer for another minute. It should be good by then. Kylie rubbed against his legs and panted. Absently, he reached down and patted her head.

She rubbed her head against his legs one more time before going to the middle of the kitchen floor and sprawling out, as she was wont to do. He noted, with a bit of annoyance, she'd gotten hair on his pants. Now he'd have to use the hair-roller to make them look nice again. How tiring. Maybe he could just leave it. It would just fall on the floor, which needed to be swept anyway.

He jerked his head towards Kylie as she started huffing and arching her back. She looked like she was trying to spit something up, but nothing was coming. He hurried to her and put his hand on her ruff. He hoped she hadn't eaten another one of his model pieces. She'd done that a few times, and it was starting to really irritate him. He always had to custom order the pieces, and they cost more when they were custom-ordered. It was stupid, but he still had to pay the price if he wanted the piece, so he didn't really have a choice.

Kylie started huffing again, and he heard wet noise. She shook her head and arched her neck, opening her maw as wide as it would go. She hacked one more time and, to his growing horror, he saw an insect start to come out, dropping onto the floor in a puddle of brownish-green liquid and indiscernible chunks of old food.

She shook her head, sniffed the bug, and then walked off as if nothing had ever happened. Mark backed up as quickly as he could. He heard the microwave ding in the background, but couldn't see anything past the disgusting think floating in the middle of his pristine house. His lip curled just glancing at the thing from the corner of his eye. The smell of regurgitated food and mucus wafted back towards him and he slapped a hand over his lower face. It was stomach-wrenching and made his eyes water.

He gagged against his hand and shied away from the revolting mess. How much more gross could you get? God, he had to get his mother to start taking Kylie to the dentist! He'd told her that once, about a week ago, and she'd claimed that dogs didn't need to go to the dentist all the time. Obviously, Kylie had just proved that statement false. They would definitely be discussing this once she got home tonight from her job.

He slowly edged around the stain and grabbed a bunch of paper towels in one hand and an air freshener in the other. Mark looked over towards the laundry room and then back at the bug. He might as well grab the bleach while he was at it- hopefully it would get rid of that smell that was emanating from the puddle on his floor. He spotted some gloves on the shelf next to the bleach, and grabbed those too.

He walked back to the kitchen, edging along the back wall. His foot bumped his pairs of shoes by the back door and he slipped those on. He didn't want to take the chance that he might step in another, smaller pool of vomit Kylie had upchucked.

He cautiously stepped to the puddle and knelt down about a foot from it. He put the paper towels at the edges and nudged them closer, yanking his hand back before the paper towel could soak enough to touch his fingers. It didn't matter he was wearing gloves. It would still be technically touching him. He looked around for something he could use to push the towels forward. He saw a paintbrush on the counter and snatched that up. At least his mother's painting hobby had one use.

He stuck the end of the brush on the edge of the paper towel and prodded it more toward the center, then repeated the action with the other towels in turn until he'd encircled the entirety of the mess. He stood up and paced away, sickened by the very action. He could almost throw up himself.

He turned back as a movement registered in the corner of his eye. Dear Lord, _please_ don't let it be…

He walked back over to the puddle and looked closer. It was. The dead bug, it seemed, was not as dead as it was supposed to be. How disappointing. A wave of repulsion washed over him as he saw the legs twitch. It seemed to be some kind of beetle, but he wouldn't know since he didn't make it a habit to study up on insects. Of any kind. In fact, there were times he went out of his way to avoid learning about them.

He reeled back as it twisted on its back. It continued to spin and try to get back on its feet and collect its bearings. Mark gagged and stuck his tongue out as he watched it. It was one of the most disgusting things a person could ever witness. That, he was sure of.

It was time to end this. If he kept looking at it, there was going to be a matching puddle on the floor right next to Kylie's mess. And then his mother would probably yell at him, even though it wasn't his fault he was completely and totally grossed out.

He slipped one of his shoes off, hopping over to the puddle on one foot, as the other was no longer protected.

He could already tell this was going to be one of the most disgusting things he'd ever done in his entire fifteen years on this god-awful, bug-infested earth. Did God even create bugs? Mark didn't think so. He thought it was the devil, Satan. Yeah, that seemed to fit the devil's personality, putting something as tortuous as bugs on this earth.

Mark peered at the puddle. The bug was still squirming. Ugh. He was going to need some serious therapy after this, even if killing the nasty thing was going to please him. Actually, he didn't even know if he was going to be able to feel happy about this- the revolution he was feeling was pretty much overriding it at this point.

Swallowing the bile rising in his throat, Mark stepped forward and squatted next to the twisting creature that was desperately trying to gain its footing. He couldn't let that happen. He poised the shoe over it, and then looked away as he shoved his hand down with all his might. He heard a sickening crunch, followed by an equally wrenching squishing sound, like trying to pull your foot out of thick mud.

He reluctantly forced himself to look at the mess that was currently covering a small section of the floor and the top half of his sneaker. Green and brown guts were splattered all over, tinged with red and black. He didn't even want to think about what each color might represent, but his imagination was already spinning the gruesome possibilities through his mind.

He shuddered, and then got to work. No one should have to clean up something as revolting as this, not even his mother. So he supposed he could clean it up out of the goodness of his heart. She'd better appreciate this.

Mark got some more paper towels and wet half of them, letting them drop on the floor beside the mess. They splattered on the floor, making a wet slap on the tiles. He wrinkled his nose. Even things that were going to relate to cleaning up that stupid bug carcass seemed nasty. Friggin' great.

He knelt down and fisted the wet towels, scrubbing the muddle of guts and liquid on the floor. It felt weird, it looked weird, it smelt weird, good Lord, it even _sounded_ weird!

Turning his head away, he closed his eyes and scrunched his mouth while throwing the dirty towels into the trash. Mark grabbed more and repeated the process. It seemed to go on and on, the quantity of cleaning products lost on him as he chanted inside his head "Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat".

He'd only heard his mother say that stupid mantra, but it seemed to help her get out of the shower quicker, so he was all for it. She took up all the hot water and steamed up the mirrors. How was he supposed to make sure he looked presentable when he couldn't see himself? After all, _someone_ had to show the world that his family wasn't just a bunch of slobs. His mother certainly wasn't a good representative.

Finally he glanced a look- he wanted to gasp in relief, but then there was a chance he might inhale any leftover fumes, and who knows what those kind of toxins could do to his system? No, better not to risk it and wait to celebrate later. The thing was so disgusting he didn't even know if it deserved a rejoicing, even if the cause of said rejoicing was death. Hm. That certainly was food for thought. He'd ponder that later when he had time. Was a bug even worth thought? This was really turning out to be a mind turner.

He dumped everything on the counter after spraying the area thoroughly with air fresheners. He washed his hands vigorously several times. He rubbed hand sanitizer on his upper arms and over his palms.

The TV was playing the title screen over and over again, waiting for someone to click 'play'. Mark yanked his popcorn out of the microwave on his way over. It was only lukewarm, he noted with some irritation. It was still good, after all it was popcorn, but it just wasn't the same. He threw it in the vicinity of the trash can, not caring when it bounced off and scattered across the floor. What did it matter? The old lady would clean it up sooner or later.

Mark jabbed at the 'play' button on the remote and sat down. Kylie jumped up on the couch and pawed at him. He ignored her until she started whining- he couldn't stand stuff like that. Crying, sniffling, whining, screaming, he hated it all. If everyone would just shut up and only talk about important things the world would be a much better place. His mother would never be able to talk, of course, but that was just another bonus.

"Stinkin' mutt. Do you know what I went through to clean up your mess? All the work I had to do? Not to mention the mental and emotional trauma involved! I hope you appreciate what I do for you." Kylie just gazed back at him with glassy eyes.

"Forget it," Mark muttered and turned his attention to the TV. Gradually the good feeling induced by the movie swept him away, and he forgot all about his earlier predicament. Everything was alright now that he had his movie. Everything was alright now. He wouldn't have to worry until The Lion King was over, wouldn't have to return to reality until it was over. He might not have much, but he could have this.

The familiar songs and dialogue soothed him, and he was soon lulled into a sleepy trance. He hummed along with another song, running the words through his mind. It was a good song, so upbeat and…and…mmm.

The dark and peaceful abyss that is sleep pulled at him. Mark resisted briefly before surrendering and sinking deep into his own consciousness. It was like a fluffy mattress after all that he'd been through. The thought of his horrible bug ordeal made him frown for a moment, until Simba's voice penetrated his mind-fog. He instantly relaxed and forgot about whatever it was that made him worry.

He drifted through the tendrils of gray mist, flashes of half-formed dreams coming and going, none ever catching his attention. One fragment caught his attention. There were lions in it, and a pig, and some kind of striped rodent…Timone, that was the rodent's name, and he was a Meer Kat. The pig was a warthog named Pumba. Yes, he had it now. The dream images came faster, the lion- his name was Simba. He and Timone and Pumba all stayed in the forest together. They were laughing at a joke. He didn't know what it was, something about bugs. Mark didn't like bugs, right? He couldn't latch on to his dislike for more than a moment though, as the scene changed.

He was in a tree now, but it wasn't a regular tree. The trunk was normal, but the leaves parted on top to form a round basin, and then came together again above it, creating a leafy canopy. The alcove looked unlike anything he'd ever seen before, with lots of odd-looking objects. Bowls and sticks, strange liquids of all colors. There were fruits, too, but not any that he'd seen before. There was one on the ground, cracked in half. It had orange gloop inside it, although the outside was more of a rusty red with lighter striped running down its sides. The gloop had been smeared on the tree trunk to form pictures. There was a lion cub with a red smear across its head, and other depictions of wildlife.

An animal clattered from the leaves and landed in front of him. It bustled around and moved things. Then it filled its hand with the orange stuff and started drawing on a previously vacant spot on the wall. At first he drew a bug, with a large round shell, but then he started drawing inside the bug until there was a boy standing seemingly in the bug's stomach. The animal, it appeared to be some kind of primate, drew a circle in the boy, outside him, and then encircled the bug as well. Mark decided the primate was a monkey as it leaned back and rubbed its chin, as if contemplating whether or not the picture was satisfactory. But Mark knew that was crazy. Animals didn't examine their drawings. They were stupid, mindless. It was a given.

The monkey stiffened, and turned slowly to look at Mark. It studied him and shook its head. It almost seemed as if the primate…_pitied_ him. But that was ridiculous. If anything, Mark should be the one to pity it. It was just a stupid animal and it didn't even know it. Its life was completely irrelevant, and yet it still had the gall to think its problems even mattered. As. If.

As though it could hear his thoughts, the monkey glared at him. Man, if looks could kill. Death might actually be preferable to looking at it, though. It was ugly with a capital U. Its face was a blue-gray in color with a red snout and white hair. It nose was a light red. Gah, how disgusting. But then again, all animals looked disgusting, excepting some dogs, like his. His was cute.

Smiling, the monkey spoke to him. "Do you often insult people in your mind after breaking into their home? I also feel obligated to tell you if you steal anything, it will give you a rash." The monkey shrugged, and Mark's eyes followed the movement. Jeez, it was ugly even when it was shrugging.

"Is that all you can think about? My outward appearance? Looks aren't everything." Mark mentally rolled his eyes. Of course they were. If you weren't well-dressed, or handsome, how were people supposed to know you were worth anything? Take his mother for instance: She dressed slutty, so everyone assumed she was a whore. And they assumed correctly. In fact-

"Hey! How do you know anything, hmm? You don't! You know nothing!" Mark knew his mother wasn't worth two cents.

"Wrong again! She is worth more, if you bothered to look! But hopefully this experience will give you a little insight." How the hell did the monkey know anything? A small voice inside Mark's head said the monkey had to know something because it could talk, but that way of thinking never stayed long in his mind and, true to form, the voice became smaller and smaller until he could no longer hear it. That was much better.

The monkey screeched. "You are not a very intelligent young man. Honestly, I don't know how your mother put up with you. I would have fed you to the hyenas by now. Not the worst way to go." This animal was insane. It really thought he cared about the crap it was spouting off.

"Alright then, if that's how you feel. No avoiding it. I'll check on you after a day or two, if you actually live that long. Remember what I said about the hyenas now- there are worse things." It cracked its knuckled and rolled its neck. "Let's get this lion a-roaring!"

It turned to Mark and started mumbling, getting louder and louder as it talked. Mark almost laughed as he realized the monkey was reciting a poem. What did that crazy primate think its little nursery rhyme was gonna do?

"So you do, shall be done unto you.

So you see, shall others see you.

So you feel, shall others feel unto you.

May the Circle of Life have mercy upon you."

Mark laughed out loud after the monkey finally stopped. God, if only he had a videotape. This crap was priceless. He could probably make a killing off of this senseless ranting. Could monkeys get drunk? Maybe this one was jacked up on some weed a tourist left in the savannah.

A snort drew his attention back to the source of his amusement. "If you're going to insult me, you might as well do your homework. I am a baboon, not a monkey. And my name is Rafiki. Get it right."

What the-? That was the cockiest monkey- excuse him, _baboon_- he'd ever met. Rafiki. What kind of name was that? Did Rafiki's mother hate him or something? He could understand, given the conversation they'd had. If you could call it that, since it was completely one-sided.

With a start, Mark realized his brain was no longer foggy, like it'd been before he dreamed of this stupid tree and _Rafiki_. Why wasn't he waking up if he was this coherent? What was going on?

Rafiki threw powder on him before Mark could ponder his revelation more. He coughed and made a face. This was the nastiest smelling stuff he'd ever smelt, and that was saying something considering he'd smelt his mother's perfume before.

A dizzy sensation filled him and he fell to his knees. Rafiki walked closer and smiled down at him. "See you on the other side."

All Mark had time to think about before he fainted was how good a certain _baboon_ head would look mounted on his wall.

* * *

Everything was blurry and…big. Mark shook his head to clear it and looked around. What was this? Leaves and bark and soil- was this a prank? His mother would do some crap like that. She was so immature it was ridiculous at times that she was actually an adult.

Something shoved into Mark and he stumbled aside. Or he would have, but something was wrong with his legs. They felt funny, oversized. They made his clumsy. He looked down to see what was wrong and did a double-take. His feet weren't feet. They were, they were-

_Can't be happening, Mark, calm down, can't be happening. This isn't real, this is. Not. REAL!_

"New here, huh? Yeah, I remember my first day here." Mark jerked his head around at the new voice. What was this crazy dude talking about?

"What are you talking about?" He was usually more articulate and witty, but after this shock, Mark figured he was allowed a droll moment or two.

"Hey, don't worry. I get it, culture shock, right? I know, I know. Used to live in the city, myself. Great place, but the pace was just to fast for me and my age to keep up. This place may seem boring, but don't let that fool you, no sireebub! You gotta watch out for the three great terrors!"

That didn't sound good. Mark momentarily forgot about his impending doom brought on by his…_change_, and focused on the old man's words for a second. "Three great terrors?"

The senior nodded. "Yup. You got the normal stuff to look out for, of course, the birds, the big bugs, the snakes, the smaller animals, an' all that. But them, the three terrors- I'd take my chances with the birds rather than face one of them any day."

They certainly sounded terrible. Mark wondered… "What are they like?"

The elder seemed to think a moment. "Well, no one's ever seen the three great terrors and lived, but…it's said each one is its own size. One large, one medium, and the other is small. The first one is scary enough just considering the size, but it's also said that it has a halo of red fire surrounding its head, and that its shell is sunlight incarnate, so bright that it can blind you with just one look."

Well, that didn't sound good. But then, it couldn't get much worse.

"But at least there's a chance of living with that one. Its size might give a miniscule advantage," he continued, oblivious to Mark's thoughts.

"The medium-sized one has spears of ivory attached to its head, and a shell made out of the blood of its victims. It also has a secret weapon: A bomb. After it eats, it lets loose to remind all the other bugs out there that they could be next. A scare tactic, and a very effective one at that."

A coat made out of blood? Spears? Bombs? What was this, the _Twilight Zone_? This was just too bizarre.

"And then there's the small one. Don't let its size fool you, though, it's just as dangerous as the other two." The old man rambled on. Did these nightmares never end?

"It can sniff out the tiniest of bugs from miles away, and is able to dig them up from the deepest of burrows with its razor-sharp claws. Its shell isn't too remarkable, except for the black stripes. Supposedly, it killed so many creatures that death couldn't contain them all, and the black spirits of the underworld bled out into our realm, and stained its coat black."

Dear Lord, that one sounded the worst. At least he seemed to be safe here.

Well, as safe as he could get with these freakish…_things_ all around him. It wasn't natural, it wasn't real. It wasn't supposed to be this way, _he_ wasn't supposed to be this way! God, why were these disgusting creepers in his home? And what had they done to his home, what had they brought to his home? Because this had to be his home, because there wasn't any logical explanation as to why he would be somewhere else, so this had to be _his_ home, right? Right?

Another one of those creatures bumped into him, rubbing his side with its scaly wings. Ugh. Mark shuddered and tried to sidle closer to the wall where the old man was staring off into space. He appeared to muttering to himself under his breath. No surprise there, the old fart was a child of the devil _and_ crazy.

This was not happening. If he told himself that enough, it was true. That was logic at its most base form. Everyone knew that! And he'd read something about alternate realities overlapping his on some website. And everything on the Internet was true.

Mark looked around at all the demonic things scuttling around as if they mattered. He hated just looking at them, but maybe he could use them to his advantage. They seemed at ease in this nasty place, and he didn't have a clue as to what he was doing here or what he needed to do to survive. So maybe it would be beneficial for him to stick close to these things, at least for now.

After all, it seemed it was a bug eat bug world out there. And now…he was one of them.

* * *

**SOOO? What do you think? The first chapter of my first request, done! Tell me what you think, you like, you hate, you had for dinner- I'm open to all of it!**

**And to those of you reading this message to review and instead just go back to the story archives: I curse you with bugs in your beds!**


	2. The Plot Thickens

**Hello! It's been a while (a long, long, looong while) but here I am again! Rest assured, I am not dead and now you can read all about the nonsense that spews from my freakish mind. **

**A big thanks to all the reviewers who encouraged me and replied within the first few days (and some, hours) of this being posted. This chappie is dedicated to all of you! You all rock!**

**And an even BIGGER thanks to ML, who was the co-writer of this, or should I say co-thinker? However you split the hairs, this couldn't have happened without her- literally. She was the one who commissioned me to write this. If she never existed, this wouldn't be. (Because, let's face it, I never would have thought up something this inventive by myself. I'm not really imaginative when it comes to bugs.)**

**Disclaimer:**** None of this belongs to me- none of it. Lion King doesn't, bugs don't, and Africa doesn't. (Had to cover all my bases there). Oh, and wherever Mark lives isn't mine either. Just the weird stuff that comes out of their mouths.**

**Read on, if you dare…**

* * *

Mark's life was literally a living hell. For the past day (or what seemed like a day to him- it was kind of hard to tell in this disgusting body) he had barely managed to stay alive. In order to survive, he'd had to do things no self-respecting human would even _think_ of doing!

Associating with the lowly bugs was bad enough, seeing them scurry around as if they had any right to live at all, but the actions they expected of him were ghastly. They had wanted him to, to- dear Lord, even thinking of it made his stomach roll- to _eat_ like them! It was humiliating!

They delighted in his misery, showing him different kinds of plants and things to eat, claiming they were only trying to help. Well, he knew the truth. They were all out to get him, those low-life insects. If he were his normal size he'd have crushed them all hours ago! And really, they didn't even deserve a quick death by his shoe! Those bugs weren't worth enough for him to dirty his shoe on. They deserved to fry in the sun, pinned to the hot sidewalk. He hated them all.

Another hunger pain shot through his stomach- or at least he thought it was his stomach. No telling with this hideous body. But he wouldn't give in, not yet. He still had some dignity left. He refused to eat the trash they offered him. He wouldn't even feed his dog such garbage. He was a man inside, and he would not eat anything unfit for a man. Let this horrendous beetle body starve- at least then he would be out of his misery.

A shadow passed over him as he returned to the log these creatures called home. He'd joined a small group of bugs as they went out for food, and they dared call the voyage successful- easy even! It was neither, in Mark's opinion. They hadn't fed him properly (ergo it wasn't successful) and his feet or whatever these things were called were aching and sore (and so it wasn't easy).

He heard rumbling laughter behind him and turned to stare at the…face, he supposed…of a huge beetle. "Tarsi hurting? It's okay, my first pillage they didn't stop throbbing for a whole sun!" He looked at Mark, obviously waiting for him to chuckle or something. Stupid bug. He wasn't even funny.

When Mark kept staring at him blankly, the bug cleared his throat. "Sorry. Goliath's the name, carin's the game. Local charity, that's me. You need something, or you're in a pinch, just give me a wave and I'll be there quicker than you can smell a dung beetle! I noticed you're new 'round these parts…?"

The sentence ended with a question and Mark resigned himself to another talk with a bug that clearly couldn't see he didn't like them. But, being the generous person that he was, instead of snubbing the beetle he answered. "I'm from Maryland."

The bug nodded sagely, like he could have any idea where that was. "One of them city bugs, then, eh? My brother's like that, too. I hear he's mating a girl half his age- practically a pupae! Scandalous, but what can you expect from ol' Titan? Anyway, if you need a place to rest your body, you're welcome under my leaf."

Now this was something he could use to his advantage. A nice home, a comfy bed. "Well, I don't want to impose…"

"Nonsense!" The stupid bug was actually grinning, or something akin to it. "If anything, we'll probably impose on you! My bug, you see, she's just hatched our first eggs! Yep, I'm going to be the proud father of two thousand!"

Mark started at the large number of eggs this bug claimed his female had just produced. The heck? Who was _happy_ about that kind of news? He couldn't even stand one of those little brats at the best of times, and this imbecile wanted thousands? What a moron. He knew the guy was already some happy-go-lucky idiot, but even he hadn't taken Goliath for a loony. Hmp. Just went to show- you couldn't trust anybody these days.

Then again, he did need someone to take care of him. It was only fair, seeing as he'd graced them all with his presence in the first place, though unwillingly, and now he knew why; they were all obviously in need of some serious help. Who better to teach them their miserable place in the order of things than him? It was meant to be, he supposed.

And so Mark smiled and heartily said "Good for you! Must be _so_ exciting!" Alright, so he couldn't completely rid his voice of the sarcasm. Maybe it would tip this bug off that he needed to get away as fast as possible. A family was like a prison sentence, and with that many kids, it was obviously for life.

"Oh, it is! We're hoping to name half of them Goliath Jr. and half Goldie Jr., after my wife, you know"

Mark didn't know. Didn't really want to, but he needed to make Goliath think the poor guy actually had a friend. After all, with as much as this guy talked it wasn't like there would be any volunteers. Mark felt his pride swelling. He was so nice.

"Yes siree, did I hit the jackpot! She's a Golden Stag! Don't see many of them settlin' down outside their species, but my girl's special. We both reached for a clump of sap, and when her mandible touched my tarsi, it was all over. I just knew she was the one for me." He was shaking his head and smiling like some love-sick fool.

Geez, didn't he realize it was all a trick? That she was playing him just so she could have some big, scary protector by her side? Still, ignorance was bliss, so Mark decided to let Goliath think his…wife? Really did love him. The sap looked like he needed it.

They walked a bit more, before finally coming upon what looked like a few big leaves stuck together, hanging lower to the ground than Mark would have liked. All the way there Goliath chattered on about how they had worked together to tunnel under the ground and build their precious home. It was 'we work together so well' and 'I would do anything for her' this and 'I bribed a frog for his mucus to mold the leaves together' that. So sickening.

As they neared the closest leaf and ducked under it, Mark caught sight of the backside of a golden shell, with a green tinge along the bottom. The legs were a blue-green that molded into solid black at the very bottom. The bug turned around, and Mark's breath caught.

Dear God, was it…no. Impossible! There was no way such an atrocity to man could be committed! But the evidence was right in front of Mark. Here, in front of him, in the most awful place on this Earth, stood…a pretty beetle.

* * *

Mark was in a stump. This was not happening, this was not happening, this was not happening. If he said it enough times inside his head, the rest of his body would have to listen. Especially the part of him that wanted to actually be nice to her. She was a beetle! The enemy! Seriously, how could he be attracted to something like that. And not only was she a beetle, but she was obviously brain-damaged to boot! After all, who in their right mind would marry someone as annoying as Goliath. And he twice her size! He dwarfed her like a tree to a flower. It was pathetic. Mark just hoped they were prepared to handle kids, as he was sure those children were going to have some serious issues with parents like those two.

It was laughable really, Mark thought as his eyes strayed to her again. There was nothing really noticeable about her. There were other stag beetles he'd seen on the way in. They all looked the same, the girl in front of him included.

_Like your mom…_ a voice in his head taunted. He nearly shook his head from the wave of hatred that flowed through him at the thought. Because the voice was right, it was like his mother. Everywhere they went together, Mark would catch people (not just men, oh no!) looking at her. They would look, and do a double-take, and smile. And when he said everywhere, he meant it. It happened at every. Friggin'. Place.

In fact, that was one of the reasons Mark had stopped going places with his mother. It was okay at first, because Mark could convince himself that the people were looking at him, that he was so handsome, and it was to be expected.

But then the talking started up. Chatting was more like it, but it still involved people's mouths moving, and not in his direction. They would just come up to her and talk. And talk. And talk. Men, women, children, teachers, strangers, employees, _everyone!_

And what had she done to stop it? Absolutely nothing! She just stood there, and actually _talked back to them._ Practically told them her life story. And of course she just had to bring him into all her conversations, introducing him, talking about him- so rude! She was a horrible person. The only good thing about this exile was that she wasn't here to chat with all these disgusting creatures.

Feminine giggling drew his attention once more to _Goldie_. What kind of name was that anyway? Goldie. A stupid name. Was every bug here named after their species? It was ridiculous. Then again, what could he expect of insects like these.

More giggling- it grated on his nerves like claws on a chalkboard. What was she even laughing at, anyway? The most popular answer seemed to be Goliath's jokes, but those weren't of the sophisticated humor that Mark preferred, and so he didn't really think they were all that funny. But apparently Goldie just found them frickin' _hilarious_, judging by the amount of laughing that was currently coming from her small form.

Honestly, if he wanted to, he could make her laugh harder. He was so much funnier. And smarter, and more talented, and nearer to her size. If he wanted to, he could totally make her dump Goliath and go for him. But seriously, there were major drawbacks- like the two thousand kids, for instance.

In fact…Mark hadn't really even seen the eggs. When they first came in under the leaves, there was a large (or what seemed large to Mark in this new body) hole. That was it. When they went into the hole, however, there were several tunnels. One to the future kids' room, one to Goliath and Goldie's separate quarters, one to the general living area, and a few escape routes, just in case as Goliath had explained…

To which Goldie had giggled, _again_. Honestly, she couldn't stop. If he was Goliath he would've at the very least yelled at her by now. Hm. Maybe the bug had more to him than was revealed at first glance. Goliath had the patience of a saint. Interesting.

Mark snorted and rolled his eyes. No, Goliath was just too dense to realize how annoying Goldie's giggling was.

Rustling at the entrance drew Mark's attention to the tunnel, where four more bugs emerged, all smaller than Goliath and with varying colors. Goliath went over to talk with them and then motioned Mark to come closer. Normally, Mark would never have followed the order of someone so inferior, but he was curious and decided to indulge Goliath. But just this one time, of course.

* * *

_What a waste of time,_ Mark thought. And it really, really was. All they did was walk. And walk. And- guess what? They walked some more!

As it turned out, the bugs wanted to form another foraging party, considering the earlier trip (the one in which Goliath had tricked Mark into this mess in the first place) wasn't too successful. Goliath consented, saying "You can never have too much food!" from which he based on the fact that it was better 'to be safe than sorry' in his opinion.

He personally didn't give a rat's arse about what Goliath's opinion was, but he liked Goldie-she seemed like a nice enough bug- and so he came to make sure Goliath didn't do anything stupid. Or more stupid than normal.

The thing he hadn't realized was how boring this was going to be. So far, the highlight of this trip had been seeing a snail go three whole inches in _*gasp!*_ less than two minutes.

Whoop-dee-_fricking_-do!

The small cluster of beetles stopped up ahead, clustering around something that was currently discernible to Mark. There seemed a general buzz of excitement though, so at least there was a chance of it being something of interest to Mark.

Upon drawing closer, it was a round object of some kind, brownish in color. It stunk to high heaven, but at the same time wafts of deliciousness would catch Mark's attention. It didn't really seem possible, unless it was like cheese or garlic bread. They smelled nasty, but tasted pretty darn good. And the whole bad breath thing could be solved with a few mints!

He shuffled into the ring around the…thing…and looked at it some more. Now that he was closer he could see that it wasn't just brown, but had dark tints of orange and seemed to be, strange as it was, _speckled_ with green.

As if on cue, all the insects walked up to the object and started pulling at the green spots with their various appendages, whether it was pincers, horns, claws or regular feet. Well, regular beetle feet.

Mark joined Goliath and together they pried the clump away from the main mass. It landed on the ground after they stepped back, landing with a soft _whump_.

Now that it was away from the bigger whatever, it didn't stink so bad. It actually smelled pretty good.

Goliath motioned towards it and said "Go on. I know you must be hungrier than me. You have the first bite."

Not a bad idea.

He pulled an ever smaller section away from it and hesitantly tasted it and…

It was great! He might liken it to a hushpuppy filled with doughnut. The outer brown layer was okay, but the green filling was better.

Huh. So these bugs actually had good taste. Who knew, right? Mark ate some more and looked around at all the others. They seemed to be in a good mood, now that they had some food in them. Or a better mood, at any rate.

Now that he thought about it, they hadn't been receptive to him at all. They kept annoying him with conversations, and ice-breakers. As if he wanted to know about them and all their little problems. He had bigger things to worry about than whether or not they had gotten a new leaf for their hole. So boring.

And another thing: They actually expected him to do everything himself. Everyone complained about his walking pace, about his silence, about his mood, everything. If there was something to comment negatively about, you better believe they commented. And commented. And went right on ahead and commented some more about things that were none of their business.

They were lucky he had been so lenient with them thus far. They were blessed in that they were even able to talk to a higher being like him. Hmph.

Another bite of the mystery food and his dreary thoughts evaporated. This stuff was _really_ _good!_ If only they had whatever this was back at home. Maybe then he wouldn't have to choke down his mother's cooking.

Lost in his own thoughts, Mark didn't even notice the three large shadows that suddenly appeared over them all.

* * *

Simba smiled as he looked on to the two animals that, for all intents and purposes, should have been his brothers. Parents, really, but they could never replace…

He shook his head to banish that train of thought. It never did anyone any good. It just put him in a bad mood and made Timone and Pumba worry. And after all they had done for him, it was the least he could do to repay them.

His paws softly padded on the ground, barely making a noise. Despite his upbringing, he thought he made a darn good lion.

Just because he didn't hunt didn't mean he didn't go through the motions. It wasn't even conscious; he'd been playing hide-and-seek and over the years the skills had developed themselves. He'd never really had a chance to test them, but he was pretty sure that if he had to, he could survive with them.

But he'd never have the chance- didn't need the chance, didn't _want_ the chance. He was happy here, and he was loved here. He had two amazing friends that would do anything for him, even if it was reluctantly. They weren't delicate or picky- they belched and farted and made crude jokes. He fit into their group like striped to a zebra.

Zebras…elephants…rhinos…gazelles. Images from the past flashed through his mind. They were fuzzy, and any sounds he remembered hearing from them were muted, as if from underwater. He remembered singing, and dancing. And kings. That was what these memories always ended up being about. That, and Nala. Him and Nala saying things about kings near animals. Lot of animals.

If he tried, maybe he could remember. But honestly, he'd blocked most of those memories long ago. General things, personal things, anything he could. Because the things he _could_ remember were bad enough.

The first few months were the worst. After the shock and numbness had worn off, all that was left of him was an empty shell. It was like he was living in his own bubble. Sure, he enjoyed some things. Eating bugs, swimming, he wasn't always melancholy. It was when he was alone that the crushing feeling in his chest came.

But even that was preferable to the nightmares. He'd wake up in a cold sweat, his father's voice still ringing in his ears. The image of him lying there, still warm, not responding to anything Simba did or said.

And the worst part was that it was all his fault. He'd killed his own father. His mother probably hated him. He was lucky that Uncle Scar had understood and given him the chance to run.

When Pumba had noticed, he'd told Timone and they'd both sat with him every night until he'd gone to sleep. Even then, they'd take turns watching over him, and if they thought he was having a bad dream they'd wake him up immediately.

At that, Simba smiled. Timone and Pumba had once told him that they knew he was having a bad dream by the noises he used to make as a cub. Shaking, straining, grunting, all were signs. And signs meant a rude awakening in the middle of the night. When they read the signs correctly, Simba was very grateful. But when they read them incorrectly it meant he was out of luck all because of a bit of gas.

After a few times of mistaken nightmare signs, Simba learned not to eat too many beetles before bedtime. It was a habit he still practiced to this very day.

He looked towards the skyline and saw the cascade of orange and pink that signaled sunset was approaching. They would have to head back to the nest soon. Some might consider it weird that they slept in nests, but then they had never exactly stuck to the status-quo. He liked it better that way.

More bickering drew his attention back to the other two that made their unique trio. He wondered what they were arguing about now. He supposed he should go over there and make sure they didn't say anything too hurtful.

Typical. Timone and Pumba were bickering and he had to be the mediator. Although he supposed he understood. Timone was naïve to the ways of the real world, to some extent. A soft heart is not something a warthog needed. All the taunts, the laughs, they hurt. But he consoled himself with the fact of tomorrow, was how Pumba had explained it to him. Tomorrow, Pumba had said. Tomorrow would be better. Tomorrow someone wouldn't run at the sight of him. And he was right- Timone hadn't run.

But therein lay the problem. Timone hadn't run, not then and not now. From the very first day Timone had realized he had found someone to…whatever you wanted to call it, boss around or take care of…he had stuck by Pumba's side, self-appointed guardian and care-giver.

Timone thought that he needed to protect Pumba from the horrors from the world, and Pumba thought he needed to get Timone to acknowledge that the world wasn't so horrible. Both had points, both wouldn't budge. So Simba was stuck in the middle. He saw both sides. He'd come from both sides.

"Yes!"

"No!"

"You don't tell me what to do!"

"I will when you act like this!"

"Leave me alone or else…"

"You'll do what- sit on me?"

"Don't think I won't!"

"I'd like to see you try, you overgrown-"

"Enough!" Simba snapped at the both of them. "Now both of you- stop it and tell me what this is about."

Pumba gestured towards the dirt where several bugs were clustered towards a pile of his…ugh. Nasty. "This. _This_ is what it's about."

He was lost. It looked normal. Not that Simba made it a habit to look at Pumba's…but still. Pumba didn't really have a regular…_spot_, per se, so he ran into these type of things every once in a while.

Simba shook his head. "I don't really-"

Pumba cut him off before he could finish. "Look closer. It's a disgrace to warthogs!"

He looked down again, and then back up. "Do I really have to?"

Timone rolled his eyes and chose that moment to rejoin the conversation. "He wants to eat a bug!"

"In case you haven't noticed, I eat bugs all the time!"

"Well not today!"

"Look what it's been doing to my-" Pumba gestured downward. Timone rolled his eyes. Simba decided to let them figure this one out on their own and stay out of their conversation. The entire topic was disgusting and the conversation was confusing.

A few more rounds of verbal barbs were distributed before Simba gathered enough information to piece together what was going on.

From what he could gather, Timone had used Pumba as a health kick and forbade him to eat bugs as much as he used to, instead inserting plants as a substitute. Pumba was not happy, to say the least. He said he'd been having stomach troubles and more gas than usual.

Timone said nothing was different than usual and it was all in Pumba's head. Pumba fervently disagreed and wanted to quit with the plants. Timone said no, Pumba said yes, and on and on.

This went on for a while, by which point Simba had reluctantly noticed that the steaming pile of poo on the ground was indeed discolored with bits of green. Now that he thought about it (as much as he tried not to) Pumba had been a bit gassier right after meals lately. And Timone had kicked him out of the nest multiple times last week for farting in Timone's breathing zone. Simba thought it was kind of funny, but…Timone was of a different opinion. Especially when he was yanked out of sleep-land to a poisonous cloud of stank.

The volume of the fight came to a crescendo when Timone snatched a random bug off the ground near the pile of excrement and ate it, yelling "Crunchy!" at Pumba.

Pumba yelled at Timone and stomped at the ground, releasing a loud fart in the process. This spurned another round of fighting.

Simba sighed and circled around them, gently corralling them back towards the trees behind them and in the general direction of home. He hoped they were at least done bickering by the time they got there. It was hard to go to sleep when all you could hear was fighting in the background.

He rolled his eyes as Pumba yelled something and waved a hoof in the air, nearly hitting Timone's head in the process. This caused Timone to start waving his hands around and screech like…well, a Meer cat.

Honestly. Family. You couldn't live with them, you couldn't live without them. Simba smiled.

* * *

Goliath jerked his head up as darkness enveloped them. It was hard to see, but there were three shadows, and that only ever meant one thing.

The Three Terrors.

Loud noises assaulted their eardrums and made them pop. Goliath winced, and looked around, processing his surroundings.

Three shadows, three threats. It was dusk, they were probably hungry. There were less than ten bugs around, so they were all in danger. His vision, as well as probably all the others, was less than good. They couldn't see, could barely hear through all the noise. He, Mark, and two others were at this pile, all the rest were a mere few feet away.

Which meant that he didn't have much time.

Goliath shoved Mark and yelled at him, "Move!"

Mark stumbled. He didn't have time for this, everything was chaos and it was about to get worse. The sounds got louder and Goliath cringed, resisting the urge to crouch and cover his ears. From his peripheral vision he could see that a few didn't have the restraint that he did.

He didn't get very far when the screaming started. Bugs scrambled for cover, giant footsteps rumbled the earth, and Mark wouldn't move his legs, damn it all, he wasn't moving fast enough.

More screaming. More rumbling. A smaller bug shot under his feet and Goliath tripped, nearly falling down. Get up, get up, get up! Find Mark- right in front of him, alright. Move on.

One foot in front of the other. Keep moving, keep Mark in front of him. Shove Mark, make him move. Dodge the big bugs, don't step on the smaller ones. Keep moving.

And later, later Goliath would be ashamed. He would be mortified that he had only thought of himself and Mark. He would beat himself up about panicking and not saving more when he had the chance. But right now his brain was fried and all he could think about was what was right in front of him.

That happened to be Mark, and he was _notmovingfastenough!_ Goliath shoved him some more and scuttled behind him as fast as he could.

A crash sounded behind him and the ground split open beneath his feet. He pushed Mark onto the ground and pinned him there, praying to every insect deity to protect them because Goldie would haunt him when she died or resurrect him just to kill him again. Plus he loved her. That was also a good reason not to die. A very good reason not to die.

Crunching sounds filled the air, riddled with blood-curdling screams. One more chomp and the yelling stopped.

That was probably worse than the screaming. It was done, everything was over. The worst had passed, it had to be. It was all over.

The ground-shaking subsided and Goliath waited. And waited.

Nothing happened. Tension slowly drained from each of his muscles until he was lying on top of Mark. This was probably uncomfortable for him, but Goliath didn't care. They were safe. For now at least, they were safe.

* * *

Mark was mad.

Mark was furious.

Mark was-he was _outraged!_

The way they had treated him during that trip was despicable. He was eating, he was happy, he was contemplating worldly, _important_, matters and then they just attacked him! Out of the blue!

He swore these rude bugs were just mongrels, barbarians! He shouldn't have to put up with this, he was an _important person!_

In kindergarten he had learned his ABC's and 123's before any other child. In first grade his penmanship had earned him the 'Best Writer' award. Second grade, he had aced his multiplication and division test the first time he had taken it. In fact, he didn't have to take the practice tests for the rest of the year. And third grade, third grade was a gem. The art teacher had compared his cursive to the ancient practice of calligraphy.

Did he really need to continue? Of course not, he was Mark, but he would.

Fourth grade: his reading level was that of a high schooler. Fifth, he'd passed the vocabulary aptitude test with flying colors, scoring highest in his grade level, nay- school!

Middle school had gone by in the blink of an eye, and he had kept the number one spot on the principals list, never getting a grade lower than an A+. He was a genius. He'd always gotten the most AR points and his test marks had, more often than not, been higher than 100%.

His freshman year he'd been offered a position in the Honors Society without even applying. His teachers had all told him that they would give him a sparkling recommendation any time he wanted. SOL scores and Final Exam scores? No problem, he'd passed with flying colors. It was his sophomore year and now, he was _here_.

Being mistreated and manhandled like some common street ruffian. It was ridiculous. He was better than this! He deserved better!

Having Goliath shove him away from his meal was horrid enough, but then to have him _continue_ shoving him and then, to add insult to injury, to lie on top of him and flatten him to the ground. And to keep him there! It was degrading, it what it was. He was flabbergasted Goliath had even dared touch him in such an informal manner. Disgusting. These bugs needed to learn their place.

Mark shook his head and smirked. Starting now, class was officially in session.

* * *

Michelle was not a stupid person. She may have been blonde, and she may be a bit ditzy and air-headed at times, but she was far from stupid.

She didn't go to college, she barely graduated high school, but she wasn't stupid. She knew this had happened because of her, because she had clung to him too tightly.

But really, what was she supposed to act like? He was her baby, her life; he was her son. She loved him, of course she loved him. Mark was a little rough to the untrained eye, but he was a good boy underneath it all.

He worked hard, he got good grades, and he did his chores. He was a good person. He loved her. She loved him, she adored him, she'd rearranged her world around him.

And now he was gone. Disappeared into thin air. No traces, no clues, not even a note.

Hadn't she raised him better than this? He'd always left a note before. Well, not always, but she knew where he was. It was her mother's intuition. She knew he was always safe.

Not now, though. She didn't know, couldn't feel anything. Was he safe, was he in danger? She needed to know. This was her little boy, her child. Her everything. And now he was gone. Not here, not there, not anywhere and she was losing it.

Taking more and more shifts off at the bar, and her boss had been so understanding. Really, Jeff had been amazing. He'd covered for her, asked the other girls to take her shifts, and he hadn't even docked her pay by much. Of course he had to reduce it a little, but it was understandable considering how much time she hadn't spent at her actual job.

The doors of the local police station were as familiar as her own now. The opaque class with black outlines and the badge with the town name in the middle. To some it was considered old-fashioned, but she liked. She thought it retained a sort of charm.

As she entered the front desk girl, Francine, nodded and smiled at her. She returned the gesture. She didn't really feel it this morning, but it was only polite.

The floors dully gleamed under the fluorescent lights. Walter, the janitor, must have polished them since the last time she was here. Since last night.

Looking around, she noted that he was right about the new cleaner he'd switched to. It had done wonders for the windows.

The main office room was busy, as per usual. Desks piled high with paperwork, coffee machines buzzing, chairs squeaking, hinges squealing in protest, doors swinging back and forth behind her. Shoes click-clacked across the now-scuffed floor (and in the back of her mind, she felt something akin to dulled outrage for all the work Walter had done). Voices were raised; talking, discussing, whispering, gossiping, arguing, figuring. Doing police things, detective things.

Normal things, in their mind. And somewhere along the way, this had become normal in her mind. Comforting, even.

She wondered what she would do when she got Mark back, when she didn't need to come here every day, didn't feel this compulsion to practically live here. Because of course she would get Mark back. She had to get Mark back. He was her son.

Down the central isle, a right at the green chair person's desk, down two more, and stop. The name plate was crooked again, even though she'd fixed it just a mere ten hours ago, if that. She didn't really look at the clock again. It just served as a reminder as to how long her baby had been missing.

Using her pinky to nudge the rectangular piece of metal-on-wood back in place, she smiled. It wasn't much, but this was a small comfort. She could fix this. See? All done.

Two hands covered her eyes and a wide chest pressed into her from behind.

"Guess who?" She could feel the vibrations in her spine, his rumbling voice resonating in her bones.

"Huh," she pretended to think about it. "Is this Walter?" It wasn't Walter. He didn't even work the day shift.

"Nope." She could picture him shaking his head good-naturedly. "Try again."

"How about…" she tapped her finger on her chin, nails lightly scraping the bottom of his hands in the process. "Oh! I know- it's Greg!" She didn't even know a Greg. It was a nice name, though.

"No dice, sweetheart. One more try," he teased.

Logic it was then. "Well, if it's not Walter, and it's not Greg, then it must be…" she bit her lip. She knew who it was. "I suppose it's the only answer. Yes, I know. It's definitely…Anderson!"

The hands removed themselves suddenly and a face swung down into her line of view. "Who's Anderson? And what kind of sissy name is that?"

She laughed, swatting at him. "Oh, please. You know I knew it was you."

He smiled. "Yeah, I knew. So how are you?" He leaned his hip against his desk as he asked the last half, his head tilted slightly.

How was she? Her only child was missing, how did he think she was doing? She voiced as much to him. His head shook back and forth in sympathy. "You just have to wait. We'll find him, you'll see."

How she wished she could believe it as surely as he did. Every day he said the same things to her, sometimes in sympathy, sometimes in assurance, but always with confidence. She was grateful that one of them had this kind of faith.

Officer Jeffrey Gordone had been a godsend. From the moment she'd first entered the police station, flustered and confused, he'd helped her.

His hand on the small of her back had guided her to a chair next to her desk. He'd calmly taken out his notepad and asked her what she needed. She'd told him she need to report a missing person- her son. Jeff had asked if it had been at least twenty-four hours since she'd seen him last. Yes, she'd replied, she knew the protocol.

It had been a week now, and she'd been here like clockwork- and so had he.

Only a year older than her, no kids, he'd been married once, but it had fallen through. Marriages tended to do that when one caught his significant other in bed with her palates instructor. The divorce was finalized over a year ago, and all contact had been severed for months now.

Jeff lived by himself in a two bedroom apartment off Main Street, just a few blocks from her and Mark's house. It was a nice place, cheery, and the kitchen was a sky blue color. She would know. They'd had lunch a few times, both at his and her place. Yesterday they'd gone out for coffee.

But it's not like it was pleasure or anything, it was business, too. They discussed vital facts and possible answers as to where Mark could have been taken.

They chatted some more and he probably would have invited her somewhere had another officer come up and interrupted them.

The man tipped his hat to her. "Ma'am, I'm Officer Leo Hereon, one of the people working on your son Mark's case. If you will, please step into my office for a bit. We'd like to discuss some things with you." He gestured towards a door on the far wall.

Michelle looked at Jeff, but he just shrugged his shoulders. So he didn't know what was going on either.

They walked through the door and the man gestured for her to sit down on the small sofa against the office wall. She did, wondering at the nerve this man possessed, to assume she would follow his every order. Jeff stood beside her, arms crossed. He didn't look happy.

"What is this about?" His voice conveyed as much.

"Wellup, it's about the case." He took off his hat and held it in his hands. Large, beefy, sweaty-looking hands. She didn't like those hands. They were nothing like Jeff's.

"You see, ma'am," she wished he would stop calling her that. It made her feel old. "We've been looking for clues as to your son's whereabouts. Your house, street, neighborhood, school, we've been through it all with a fine-tooth comb. Metaphorically, of course." No shite Sherlock.

"And so far, well, we haven't found any evidence suggesting that he was, in fact, kidnapped. I wish I had better news, but the fact of it is I don't. And another fact that seems to be taking shape is that Mark disappeared of his own volition."

She didn't understand, what was he saying? Did he actually, could he really believe that Mark would…no. No, it wasn't true. She hadn't raised her boy like that.

"What the hell are you suggesting, Leo?" Jeff agreed with her. That was a good sign, Jeff was usually right. "Do you honestly think he _ran away_? Because if so," he was on a roll now, "then there has to be a reason, and after meeting Michelle here, I can't think of one."

The officer opened his mouth, but Jeff cut him off again. "Now, why don't you get back to, I don't know, your _job?_ And find her child."

Jeff took her by the arm (gently, though) and led her out of the office. "Won't you get in trouble for that?"

"Naw." He was actually smiling. "We're both on the same level, and we've always been good drinking buddies. He'll understand, won't take it personal or nothin'." She'd thought as much.

"And don't worry," he added. "They still might find something- there's always tomorrow, after all."

* * *

**A/N: And there it is! Slightly longer than the last chapter, but I'm still happy with it. Mostly. It also took longer to update and all that- psh, hell, it took months to update! Ah, I'm such a procrastinator. But it's here, all in one neat little package that burns your eyes if you stare at the screen too long.**

**To learn about what type bugs Goliath and other characters are, skip down to the part that has weird symbols posted above it- to learn more about bugs in general, and where I got my info from, read on!**

**So, I made references to bugs, but I know nothing about them, meaning I had to do research. Okay, I didn't, but I like to be accurate most of the time (talking insects, yeah, I know-shut up)**

**The anatomy of the beetle is pretty uniform, but different things vary depending on species, gender, etc. I was just going by the general outline: The head, on which the antennae sit- antennae are usually used to smell things, but can also be used to feel the beetle's environment. The mouth is also on the face, along with the mandibles, which are basically over-glorified pincer things. Roughly inside the pincers are two appendages, which by our standards look like tiny, straight fingers. These are used to shove food into the mouth.**

**The body is called the thorax, usually divided into two parts but not always. There are actually segments upon segments on and in the beetle, hidden by wings and exo-skeletons, but that's not really need to know info. The abdomen is behind the thorax, with a series of rings that each have holes for breathing and respiration.**

**The legs, which are also multi-segmented, end in 2-5 sections called tarsi (aforementioned in the joke that introduced Goliath to Mark). Though their actual purpose is walking, they can be adapted to other uses, such as digging, jumping, and in some species, even swimming.**

**There are basically two sets of wings; the outer ones, used for protection mainly, and the inner ones, which are more delicate and used for the actual flying.**

**Internal morphology, more detailed external morphology, mating habits, life cycles and such things can be found on any website, but this information can from wiki/Beetle. I don't know if FFN will let you click on the link, but you can copy and paste and it should have the same effect.**

**!$%^#& & * * * ^#%$ # *) ) (^ # # 2**

**So, Goliath and Mark are two different species, as well as Goldie. **

**Goliath is (what else?) a Goliath beetle. Goliath beetles are among the largest species on earth, and if you were to hold one, if would be as big as your hand, sometimes bigger depending on the size of your hand. (BTW, did you know you're of a lower IQ if your hand is bigger than your face? Haha, no, bad joke, don't do it.) They are found in Africa's tropical forests, so that part was accurate. Their diet mainly consists of tree sap and fruit.**

**Mark is a mix of a Ground Beetle and Metallic Beetle- I couldn't quite decide on one alone. The Ground Beetle is the size I want (not very big, a few inches in size), but it's carnivorous, and not well-known or researched. The Metallic Beetle on the other hand, eats mainly fruits and vegetables and its color ranges from a bright green to brown-gold color. They both originate in Africa, so that's not really a big problem.**

**Goldie. Goldie is a Golden Stag Beetle. If you go on the Wikipedia website for beetles, there's a picture just under the first paragraph with several beetles in it. The caption under it lists beetles, the first of which is a female Golden Stag Beetle from which I based Goldie's character on. Not much is known about these either, but at least there's more than the Ground Beetle. They're found in wet forests and live in dead trees most of the time, so it wasn't too much of a stretch.**

**All other bugs mentioned have no specific species, so label them as you will. We all know that Simba is a lion, roughly a teenager at this point in time, Pumba is a warthog and Timone is a Meer cat. Michelle, Jeff, Leo, and Walter are humans. If this wasn't (shockingly) clear by now, Michelle is Mark's Mom. Jeff is a police officer based on the retired K-9 cop that lives across from me. Leo and Walter are made up. I apologize to any Walter's out there that take offense to being a Janitor, and any Leo's that take offense to being spoken to in such a manner by Jeff.**

**That is the conclusion of my little history lesson- til' next time, my beautiful insects!**


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